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Part One
One
Amy closed her suitcase and looked around the bedroom she shared with her husband, Stephen. Everything was neatly in place, just the way she liked it. Stephen teased her that she’d fall down dead if the clock showed eight A.M. and she didn’t have all the beds made. But he didn’t fool her; he liked the house to be clean and neat as much as she did.
She sat down on the buttoned bench at the foot of the bed and sighed. I can’t do this, she thought for the thousandth time. For that matter, why was she being made to do it? She wasn’t good with strangers, wasn’t good in social situations where she had to meet people and make chitchat. She liked going to the same places, seeing the same people, and talking about their same lives. So what was wrong with that? If it made her feel safe, so what?
Just because Stephen and his father knew some therapist and she suggested that Amy get away for a while didn’t make it necessary. Besides, what gave that woman the right to tell other people what they should do with their lives?
“You have on your sulky face again,” Stephen said from the doorway.
It flashed through her mind that this was her last chance to show her husband how much she hated being sent away, so she tried to keep her look of anguish. But it didn’t work. He was leaning against the doorway, wearing dark gray trousers and a crisp white shirt. Sunlight was coming in from the window across the stairs behind him, making the light hit his dark blond hair in a way that made a halo around his head. When he smiled, his blue eyes seemed to emit starlight. She could feel her body growing limp.
“Don’t give me that look,” he said. “The kids are downstairs diving into their Froot Loops and we don’t have time to…” He gave a little one-sided grin and nodded toward the bed.
It took Amy three whole seconds to react. “You gave them Froot Loops? Do you know what’s in that stuff? Sugar!” She was running toward him and the doorway when he caught her about the waist.
“That got you out of your stupor,” he said, pulling her to him. “They’re not eating anything i
llegal.” He nuzzled his face in her neck. “They’re having one of those sawdust cereals you buy for them.”
She pushed away and glared at him. “But I bet that the minute I’m out of here, you’ll let them have everything they want.”
“Why not?” Stephen said, smiling, still holding on to her. “I’ll be the good guy and you’ll be the dictator.”
She twisted out of his grip. “That’s not funny.”
He dropped his hands to his sides and his face became serious. “Amy, we’ve been over this a thousand times. I’m not going to leave you here alone.”
“Then stay with me. Or go with me.”
“No,” he said firmly. “I promised the boys this camping trip and I’m going to do it.” He smiled a bit. “You’re welcome to go with us.”
Amy rolled her eyes. She loved her husband and two young sons passionately, but camping? During the one camping trip she’d gone on, three years ago, she’d been so nervous that she’d made all of them miserable.
There had been an open campfire and a toddler. She stayed awake for the first three nights, terrified that her youngest son was going to wake up and walk into the fire.
There had been bugs, dirt, and no bathrooms. When they finally hiked out of the place, she had fallen asleep in the car, exhausted and relieved that the ordeal was at last over.
During the following year, neither Stephen nor their oldest son mentioned that Amy had spent the entire week complaining. But the next summer when Stephen spoke of another camping trip, before Amy could say a word, he said, “I vote that this year we leave Mommy at home.” Both had agreed.
After that, Amy’s extreme hatred of camping had become a family joke, and she had laughed along with them. The second year, she’d helped them pack nutritious food, buy the best camping gear, then she’d happily waved them off. She spent a luxurious week repainting both of the boys’ bedrooms and going to the gym. When they returned, all four of them were happy to see one another and had had much to talk about. Amy had been in such a good mood that she’d laughed when she found her homemade, good-for-you food still in the cooler, right next to a bag full of empty wrappers for every disgusting, high-sugar, high-fat thing they could find at the local convenience store. It took the boys nearly three days to come off their sugar high. But then, it had taken Stephen the same amount of time to come down, and since he expended his energy in the bedroom with Amy, she didn’t complain.
This year was to be their fourth camping trip, their third without Amy, but now things were different. Four months ago, she had miscarried their third child, a little girl, and Amy had not been able to recover from her grief.
Everyone said that she was young and she could “try again,” but nothing consoled Amy. She had reacted by closing into herself, not wanting to get out or see anyone.
Through it all, Stephen had been wonderful. He’d done the grocery shopping and he’d been the one to go to the boys’ last teacher conference. At church he’d made excuses for why Amy wasn’t there. He said she had the flu, then bronchitis. Not one person believed him. They patted him on the arm and said, “Give her time.”
Stephen had gone home, battled with the boys to get them out of their good clothes before going outside, then told Amy every word the people at church had said about her absence. For the last two Sundays, she’d still been in bed when they returned.
But a few weeks ago, things had changed. His father called him at work and asked him to go to lunch with the wife of a friend of his. She was a therapist. Stephen had thanked his father for the offer, but said he couldn’t possibly go. Between all that he had to do at work and his new responsibilities at home, things that Amy usually took care of, he was overwhelmed. The day before he’d put on socks that didn’t match and a new client had noticed. For the ten years that they’d been married, Amy had always put out his clothes for him. The truth was that he didn’t know where his socks were kept.
But his father knew how to get his son to do what he wanted. “Are you saying that you don’t want Amy to get back to her true, bossy little self? Do you want to spend the rest of your life with a woman who can hardly get out of bed? Do you want to start dressing yourself?”
Stephen sighed. He knew he’d lost this argument before it began. However, he had the presence of mind to ask about the woman. He didn’t want to be conned into sending Amy to somebody who rang bells and burned incense. According to his father, the woman had credentials “a mile long.” “She works with some big names,” his father said. “I can’t tell you who they are because—”
“I know,” Stephen said, “breach of trust. I just don’t want to waste my time with her if all she’s going to tell me to do is sit down with Amy and reason with her. I’ve tried that and it doesn’t work.”
His father hesitated. “Are you saying you want to give her drugs?” There was horror in his voice.
“No, of course not! I want…I don’t know, maybe I’m looking for magic.”
